


Titi Tika-Ti

by Kitkatkimble



Series: Little Annoyances [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, More Courfeyrac shenanigans, The Cup Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1878702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitkatkimble/pseuds/Kitkatkimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac is famous for his Ideas. Combeferre is famous for managing them.</p>
<p>They're the perfect working team; or at least they would be if Combeferre didn't have a secret mischievous streak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Titi Tika-Ti

Combeferre doesn’t need a gateway drug, because Combeferre has Courfeyrac.

Not that Courfeyrac is a drug dealer, God no. Anyway, even if he was, Combeferre knows him too well to even imagine him being anything but a really, really shitty dealer. Actually, now that she thinks about it – Courfeyrac and drugs is not something one tends to ponder for too long – Courfeyrac would probably end up buying the stuff, seeing some poor lonely soul on the street, and convincing himself that the soul of philanthropy would require him to cheer them up with whatever cocktail he’d got his hands on.

Combeferre knows this because she’s seen exactly the same thing happen every single year while Christmas shopping, except with vegetables and a few times, entire turkeys.

Anyway, back on topic.

Courfeyrac has a secret, hidden talent, and that is being the mastermind behind just about every annoyance ever. Because Courfeyrac has Ideas, and while some of those are good, others are Very Bad. Combeferre has learnt to look out for the Very Bad Ideas.

Pity she didn’t see this one coming, because it has to be one of the worst – or best – yet.

It starts with the radio. Combeferre only ever listens to the radio in the car, and even then only when Courfeyrac is with her and she’s driving. Courfeyrac has eclectic music tastes, but he can be relied on to always choose the station with the catchiest songs, because he knows that they’ll get stuck in people’s heads and drive them absolutely crazy.

_I bought a ticket for the long way round,_

_Two bottles of whiskey for the way…_

“Do I know this song?” Combeferre asks, fingers tapping idly on the steering wheel. She notices their movement (the traitors, next she’ll be humming) and stops abruptly, and Courfeyrac doesn’t notice.

“Don’t know, maybe. It’s pretty popular. I think it’s from a movie.” Courfeyrac is already drumming out the little ostinato on his knees. “Did you catch the name?”

“No, sorry.” She did. She’s not telling.

“Oh, well. I’ll just look up the lyrics.” Damn it.

Two hours later, thanks to Courfeyrac’s phone and the Musain’s free Wi-Fi (it was pretty much the deciding factor in their choice of hang outs, along with Grantaire’s support for their coffee) they have a name, artist, and dear God, Combeferre did not sign up for this.

“No, okay, hold on. So it’s like this - ” Courfeyrac does a complicated little rhythm with the cup in his hands, pauses, then finishes it, “with that instead of the other thing.”

“Yes, dear,” says Combeferre.

“Okay, I can do this.” He then proceeds to do so for a solid twenty minutes, until Combeferre looks up from her book to see him doing it with his eyes shut and whistling that bloody song.

He opens them and sees her watching sceptically. “Hey, it’s fun. You want to try?”

She doesn’t, but she tries anyway, because Courfeyrac is a gateway drug and awfully convincing when he wants to be.

Which leads us to the present, six days after Courfeyrac first heard the song, and three since they both mastered the tricky cup-tap-knock-smash rhythm.

“We need Bahorel,” Courfeyrac says, eyeing Enjolras over his latte. The blond is looking particularly snappish today, which may or may not have something to do with the rather conspicuous absence of their resident artist. “She’s got better rhythm, and if Enjolras even looks at us, I’m going to crack. Nothing cracks Bahorel.”

“Aubergines, kittens and crystal meth crack Bahorel,” Combeferre remarks idly, flipping through her emails on her phone. “Also Jehan, and Bombay Sapphire, although I’m not sure at what quantity.”

Courfeyrac shudders, and Combeferre smirks. “You’re scary. Wait, crystal meth?”

“Long story.”

Enjolras says something, continues saying things, and eventually stop saying things to let Feuilly say things. Combeferre is listening, and could probably recite the entire conversation if pressed, but her attention is elsewhere. Namely, trying not to be too obvious while watching Courfeyrac very carefully for signs of mischief.

Courfeyrac notices, grins wickedly, and peers down at his cup. He glances around them flips it over, and Combeferre is only slightly relieved to notice that no dregs spill out.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” she says, trying not to sound invested. She has a reputation for being utterly imperturbable, and she intends to keep it, no matter what shenanigans Courfeyrac threatens.

Courfeyrac, to the surprise of absolutely no one, doesn’t listen.

“We have to look at a more comprehensive form of education,” Enjolras is saying, hands gesturing vaguely and expansively. Combeferre’s still not convinced that there isn’t Italian blood there somewhere. “It has to be easy to access, quick to read, and not so information heavy that people will have to try in order to understand it.”

“Pamphlets not cutting it anymore?” Combeferre turns to see that Grantaire has snuck in and seated himself just behind her and Courfeyrac. “People don’t read those, what makes you think they’ll read anything more serious?”

Enjolras is about to reply and probably start yet another pointless argument, but Combeferre sighs, adjusts her glasses, and flips over her empty cup.

_Titi tika-ti titi ta, ti ta ta-titi ta._

Courfeyrac picks it up.

_Titi tika-ti titi ta, ti ta ta-titi ta. Titi tika-ti titi ta, ti ta ta-titi ta._

Feuilly apparently knows it too.

_Titi tika-ti titi ta, ti ta ta-titi ta._

“What – ” Enjolras.

“Oh, those shits.” Grantaire. Combeferre glances at him, and he’s got the biggest shit-eating grin she’s seen to date. He reaches out, nicks a glass, and picks up the rhythm effortlessly.

_Titi tika-ti titi ta, ti ta ta-titi ta._

Someone starts humming, and then singing, and Combeferre recognises it as Eponine. Her English is surprisingly good. “I bought a ticket for the long way round, two bottles of whiskey for the way. And I sure would like some sweet company, and I’m leaving tomorrow, what do you say?”

“When I’m gone.” Cosette.

“When I’m go-o-o-o-one.” Marius can hold a tune well; Combeferre did not know that.

“You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone!” Eponine sings it with more relish than Combeferre is comfortable with. “You’re gonna miss me by my hair, you’re gonna miss me everywhere, oh, you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.”

_Titi tika-ti titi ta, ti ta ta-titi ta._

Combeferre hazards a glance at Enjolras, and nearly laughs aloud. The blond has his head buried in the crook of his elbow, collapsed on the table, and just waves for them to continue when Joly pokes him. “If it makes you happy,” is the faint murmur that is audible.

Courfeyrac swaps cups with her and mutters under his breath, “Told you it was a good idea.”

She hums non-committedly. _Titi tika-ti titi ta, ti ta ta-titi ta._

“Admit it, you’d miss me and my Very Bad Ideas if I were gone.”

“I wouldn’t miss your music taste.”

Courfeyrac smirks. It’s admission enough.

**Author's Note:**

> In case it isn't blatantly obvious, I have a very large, Courfeyrac shaped soft spot. Also have you accepted fem!poc!Combeferre as your lord and saviour  
> Based off a tumblr post somewhere in the nether about Courfeyrac learning the cup song and annoying people


End file.
